


The Art of Self-Preservation

by shoeberray



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoeberray/pseuds/shoeberray
Summary: Blaise's mother always taught him that self-preservation was the only rule in life, but he finds that it's easier said than done when he ends up having to use all his deception and intelligence to live through being thrown into Slytherin house in 1944. When joining a young Voldemort is just as dangerous as opposing him, Blaise doesn't have many appealing options to choose from.





	1. Chapter 1

Blaise’s mother taught him the art of self preservation from the moment he could understand English. Actually, Blaise was pretty sure Berenice Zabini lectured on about self preservation as soon as he was placed in her arms at the hospital, newly born. Having not had the capacity to understand speech at the time, Blaise couldn’t know for sure, but he felt certain his mother would have considered ramblings about survival of the fittest to be appropriate bedtime stories for a baby.

“You can’t let anyone take you for a fool, Blaise,” Berenice would tell her toddler son when the mood struck her. “People always want something from you. They’ll play nice and tell you what you want to hear and when they’ve gotten what they want from you, they’ll abandon you. You can’t expect anyone but yourself to do what’s best for you.”

Berenice knew how to succeed using her looks. Her biggest strengths were her looks, intelligence, and cunning, and she had no problem using all three to get what she wanted. She manipulated and seduced men into giving her what she needed to provide for herself and her son. With the strengths Berenice was provided with, she became one of the most powerful witches in magical Europe no longer needing to associate herself with anymore rich and powerful men.

“The trick is to keep to yourself as much as possible,” Berenice told Blaise. “You will inevitably make some enemies, but the best thing to do is to convince as many people as possible that you are on their side. People who make too many enemies always end up dead. There have been those with too much hubris who decide that they have enough skill and shrewdness to anger scores of powerful people. They always ended up taken down by the enemies they dismissed. Never anger someone enough that they want you dead if you can help it. If you do ever make such a mistake, find a way to permanently get rid of that person.”

Blaise took what his mother said to heart. Maybe because she was his mother and as a child, that meant her words were gospel. Maybe because her words just made too much sense to her given his own observations throughout life. Either way, Blaise’s beliefs formed out of his mother’s beliefs, and he kept a suitable distance from all his housemates throughout his schooling.

It was easier in the earlier years of his schooling. His yearmates didn’t care too much that he didn’t want to associate with them much outside of the occasional greeting or short, meaningless conversations. None of them had a care in the world. They were all rich and connected children whose biggest responsibilities were getting grades that wouldn’t completely embarrass their parents. They all had their power games, of course, trying to suss each other out to determine whose friendship might gain them the most in the future, but that was the extent of their attempts at acting like adults.

Blaise recognized the benefits to making friends, but he preferred keeping everyone on slightly friendly terms and hedging his bets on his dream to work in the Department of Mysteries. Blaise could only imagine all the secrets he could learn in the Department of Mysteries that would grant him power through knowledge. In his mind, knowledge afforded him the most opportunities for success. He excelled in his studies which made Blaise sure he could succeed in his dream.

Blaise’s determination to skate easily through school having little to do with his schoolmates fell apart when Voldemort came back to power. Many Slytherin families had connections to Voldemort, and the whole house expected all Slytherins to throw in their support for Voldemort. During Voldemort’s first reign, Berenice had managed to stay neutral by virtue of not being close enough to anyone for them to try and push her into joining the Death Eaters. If anyone asked, she threw in her support for Voldemort, but the truth was she didn’t want anything to do with the dark lord. Berenice figured Voldemort would fall one day, and she didn’t want to be linked to him when that happened.

In the midst of the ambitious next generation of Death Eaters, Blaise found it harder to completely stay out of the war. He truly wanted nothing to do with Voldemort. In his mind, aligning himself with a leader that didn’t hesitate to murder his own followers at the tiniest slights was monumentally stupid. On the other hand, joining the opposition which consisted of those that would deny all evidence of Voldemort’s return didn’t seem particularly wise either. If Voldemort could come back from the dead unnoticed and proceed to take the steps necessary for victory also unnoticed, then Blaise didn’t have much confidence in the rest of the wizarding world’s ability to stop Voldemort. Even if he had thought Voldemort’s defeat impending, Blaise wouldn’t have felt safe going up against Voldemort while he lived in the Slytherin dorms.

As it were, Blaise tried to convince his housemates he was with them even as he continued avoiding involvement. It wasn’t too hard to stay out of the war. School children weren’t expected to do much outside of spreading the word to those that might be sympathetic to the cause. Blaise increased the amount of anti-mudblood rhetoric that came out of his mouth, ingratiated himself more to his housemates, and hoped for the war to end soon.

What the idiots in his house couldn’t understand was that the war was currently the most dangerous thing to their ambitions. Blaise didn’t know what they hoped to gain from the war. They already had money and connections. All the war did was risk their lives and their stations. Blaise didn’t know how his fellow Slytherins couldn’t see how much they would fall in life if Voldemort fell and they were caught supporting him.

For Blaise’s and Berenice’s part, they didn’t receive any fallout from Voldemort’s demise having never participated in the war. Blaise was able to continue with his original life plan, passing his NEWTs with exceptional grades and getting a job in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The Department of Mysteries wouldn’t come until he passed the appropriate tests and proved himself capable of properly handling the unknown. It was on the job that Blaise started his journey into the worst possible situation for a self preservationist.

It started with a typical call in; just a standard unexpected explosion in a bumbling wizards house. Blaise headed over to the scene expecting to find an errant erumpet horn or something of similar nature. It was surprising how many witches and wizards would keep explosive items in their house with the idea that they would never be careless enough to let it explode. Blaise had a lot of cases involving people like that.

When Blaise arrived at the scene, he cast spells to check for any remaining dangers. Finding nothing, he motioned to his team, and they proceeded forward, carefully picking through the wreckage for the cause of the explosion. Only twenty minutes passed when one of the searchers called out, “I found something!”

Blaise didn’t look over immediately. His focus was occupied by a small object he found buried under a pile of splintered wood. Surreptitiously, he picked up the item and stashed it in his deep pocket. One never knew when a time turner might turn out to be handy.

Having successfully stolen the time turner without detection, Blaise gathered around with his other coworkers. A witch by the name of Liana Ainsworth stood in front of a charred and partially melted muggle radio. Ah, another common magical accident. Some magical persons liked the novelty of owning a quaint muggle object without even knowing the potential dangers or how to protect from those dangers. Electricity acted poorly to magic, and if exposed to enough magic, an electrical object could explode. Blaise thought anyone stupid enough and with poor enough taste to decorate their house with muggle items deserved to have their house demolished.

After another boring day of investigating and smoothing over people’s idiocies, Blaise returned to his house. Despite living alone, Blaise’s house had two stories and three bedrooms. He refused to suffer the indignity of residing in a small home. Blaise trudged up to the bedroom he preferred and carefully placed his time turner in a chest protected by spells. He couldn’t risk anyone else getting their hands on that or accidentally setting it off. He’d seen enough of arrogant people that thought they would never stumble into a dangerous device to never make that mistake himself.

In the following days, Blaise put the time turner out of his mind. Unless he found a need for the thing, he had no reason to think of it. He only came across the time turner again when he went back into his secure chest to retrieve some polyjuice potion. He had a plan figured out to get the answers for his upcoming test. When possible, a Slytherin always cheated.

As Blaise reached in to grab his vial of polyjuice, the doorbell rang. Jerking his hand back in shock, Blaise jostled the time turner and that’s when he noticed something wrong with it. Ignoring the doorbell for the time being, Blaise carefully picked up the time turner to examine it better. The screw on the ring was coming loose which shouldn’t be possible without some tampering. That meant that the previous owner had been messing with the time turner, not surprising for someone that thought owning an electrical object in a magical atmosphere was a good idea. Blaise supposed he himself was an idiot for not noticing the loose screw previously. Blaise cursed as the doorbell rang again. Didn’t the person know that no answer meant they should go away not ring the bell again?

With as much caution as possible, Blaise lay the defective timeturner on his bureau and headed downstairs to answer the door. The further he walked, the dizzier he felt. His mind staggered in time with his legs and he grasped onto the railing of the stairs tightly. He needed to sit down or he’d fall. Blaise hardly had time to register that he was in the process of passing out before he fell into the emptiness of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

“Probably is not definitely,” Berenice used to say. “Too many people like to ignore possibilities when they’ve determined the most likely one, but even with a 99% possibility that one time out of 100 will be what gets you into trouble. Take into account all possibilities, and you’ll never get caught off guard.”

Blaise thought of his mother’s words as he gained consciousness and found himself staring at a portly middle aged woman holding him at wandpoint. She didn’t look like much of a fighter, more like a typical housewife that spent most of her time dabbling in the more mundane aspects of magic. Blaise could probably disarm her before she had a chance to hit him with any spell, but probably wasn’t definitely and Blaise didn’t take chances.

“What are you doing in my house? Who are you?” the woman demanded with only a slight tremble in her voice. Her wand hand, though, was shaking violently with fear, presumably. Blaise stayed still as he took in his surroundings. This, in fact, was not his house which was quite a disconcerting conclusion to come to especially considering the staircase he sat on bore a remarkable resemblance to the very staircase he was recently descending. The resemblance was so remarkable that Blaise would have thought he was still in his own home if not for the gaudy decor he spotted in the room at the bottom of the staircase. There was an elegance to simplicity, a concept that the woman pointing her wand at Blaise had clearly never grasped.

“Please, calm down,” Blaise said soothingly not bothering to stand up lest it startled the nervous woman. “I did not barge in on your home intentionally. If you contact the proper authorities, I’m sure everything will get sorted out shortly.” If he got whoever arrived to call over Blaise’s own apartment, they could be sure to figure out why he found himself teleported into someone else’s home.

“I’ve already done that. The aurors will be here soon, so you better leave before you get arrested,” the woman warned.

That didn’t quite add up. If she had already reported an intrusion before Blaise gained consciousness, the aurors should have already arrived by now. Nevertheless, Blaise got up to leave. He was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and if this woman was letting him go, he was going to go. “Do you have any anti-apparition spells set up around the house?”

The woman looked offended that Blaise would even ask the question. “Of course. What sort of simpleton do you think I am? Exit through the front door.” The woman would be surprised to learn how many witches and wizards did not properly secure their homes.

As the woman backed away from Blaise, leaving him a path to the door but keeping her wand trained on him, the front door burst open and a short, muscular man of about 50 strode in through the door. The woman yelped and cast a spell at the man who blocked it and disarmed the woman in one swift movement.

“Who are you people?” the woman asked, her voice quivering as she no longer had the ability to feign any calmness. “Are you working together?”

Ignoring the woman, the man eyed Blaise who quickly reached for his wand in his pocket. He didn’t want a fight, but this looked like the kind of man who shot first and asked questions later. “I suppose it’s you,” the man said gruffly as he lowered his wand. Blaise relaxed his grip on his own wand slightly. Perhaps, he’d been wrong on his assumption.

“What’s me?” Blaise asked with less eloquence than he would have liked. Accidentally teleporting into a stranger’s house could temporarily decrease one’s vocabulary and decorum.

“The aurors will be here any second!” The woman shrieked desperately. Neither Blaise nor the older man paid her any attention.

“You’ve caused quite an uproar in the Department of Mysteries. This is the first case we’ve had of its kind since 1793,” the man said.

“The Department of Mysteries,” the woman repeated with an awed whispered. The man glanced at her for the first time since he’d disarmed her.

“Pardon me for a moment,” he said to Blaise before aiming his wand at the woman and shooting out a stupefy. He followed the stunning spell up with an obliviate and then faced Blaise who was starting to realize just how potentially dangerous his current situation was.

“You said you work for the Department of Mysteries?” Blaise said trying to facilitate a conversation until he deduced the best chance for escape.

“Oh, yes. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Llewelyn Geddes, a specialist in time related accidents. You can call me Lew for short.”

Blaise hardly wanted to call the man anything. He just wanted to be away from the man, but Geddes’ words caught his attention. “You’re an unspeakable in the time department of the Department of Mysteries? Why are you here?” Could Blaise’s defective time turner have something to do with it?

“You look like a man raised with proper instruction on etiquette,” Geddes said. “Don’t you know that it is polite to provide your own name once someone has introduced himself to you?”

“Forgive me,” Blaise said playing along as he didn’t have much of a choice. “I’m Blaise Zabini.”

“And how did you end up here, Blaise Zabini?”

“I’m not sure,” Blaise admitted. “I’m not even sure where here is.”

“Are you not?” Geddes looked far too amused at Blaise’s expense for Blaise’s taste. “Why don’t you look around and see if you spot anything familiar.”

Blaise narrowed his eyes at the self proclaimed time specialist, but walked down the stairs to do as Geddes suggested. Before, Blaise had only been able to see a sliver of the living room from his position on the stairs, but he could see the entirety of the room and its gaudy decor from his new location at the foot of the stairs. The rest of the room was just as much an assault to aesthetics as the sliver Blaise had already glimpsed, but that wasn’t what drew Blaise’s attention. The main draws were the dimensions of the room, the square footage of the floor, the height of the walls, the placement of the various corners. It was all the same as Blaise’s own living room. He noted that the windows of the room too matched Blaise’s windows.

Blaise supposed that it could have been a neighboring house. Maybe the houses in the area were designed by the same person and he couldn’t be bothered to differentiate the houses, but Blaise had a niggling suspicion that that wasn’t the case.

“I see,” Blaise said. He could figure out what it meant to be in an exact architectural replica of his house speaking to a man claiming a job pertaining to time research. He felt a bit faint, but he wasn’t about to let that show to this stranger. “May I ask what year it is?”

Geddes laughed boisterously. Blaise twitched in annoyance, but waited out the man’s laughter. “Well, Blaise Zabini, you came to that conclusion quicker than I thought you might. Welcome to 1944. I hope it’s not too different from the time you’re used to because you’ll be here awhile.”

“How long is awhile?” Blaise pressed. His mind was numb and he could hardly think straight after the staggering discovery that he was years into the past, but he knew he needed answers.

Geddes’ amusement dissipated and a grim expression took over. “The thing is, Blaise Zabini, we have no knowledge of travelling into the future. As far as we know, future travel is impossible. In all likelihood, you’re stuck here permanently. Until the natural flow of time takes you back to whatever year you’re from. Unless you lived in the much distant future?”

“About 60 years from now,” Blaise answered absently as he tried to process his new predicament. He’d had everything going for him. Had he really lost everything due to one questionable decision? Blaise felt he understood the people that ended up needing the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes a little more now. He hated that. He always thought those people the dregs of wizarding society, and now he shared an understanding with them.

“60, you say? Fascinating. Very fascinating. You’ll have to tell me more later. For now, we have a lot to do.”

“Like what?” Blaise asked still feeling gobsmacked.

“For starters, we need to ask you about everything preceding your trip to the past. After that, we need to set you up with a whole new identity. We can’t have an undocumented wizard running around freely, and you’d never be able to have a life without proper identification.” Blaise didn’t answer. He didn’t want a new identity for a life in 1944. He already had a life he quite liked, thank you very much.

“Come along now,” Geddes said holding open the front door and gesturing outside. “The quicker we start, the quicker you can adjust to your new life.” Without even a glance at the poor stunned and obliviated woman on the floor of her own living room, the two exited the house.


	3. Chapter 3

“So let me get this straight,”  Geddes said from across the small table he had sat Blaise in upon entering the cramped, mostly bare little room in the halls before the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.  “You owned a time turner, and the screw came loose unbeknownst to you?”

Blaise never squirmed, so he kept a relaxed posture as Geddes questioned him with obvious doubt in his words.  “Yes.  I’m assuming someone tampered with it without my knowledge.  Whether that person did so as a welcome or unwanted guest, I am unsure.”

“Indeed.”  Geddes leaned back in his seat and tapped the fingers of his right hand on the table.  “And who are you that you came into possession of such a dangerous device, Blaise Zabini?”

“The son of a high ranking official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  Her work piles up and the ministry authorized her use of the time turner to give her time to finish all her work.  They put restrictions on it so it only works once a day as a compromise for allowing her to rent out the time turner.”  Blaise knew of one such case and applied it to his story.  It’s not like the unspeakable would have access to the records of ministry officials half a century into the future.

“You know, Blaise Zabini, us unspeakables, as you like to call us, have developed many spells and devices that we don’t let out to the general public.  I might have such a spell that lets me know whether one is being deceitful for or not.  Your ability to circumvent the veritaserum doesn’t matter,”  Geddes said staring into Blaise’s eyes intimidatingly.

Blaise didn’t let his nerves show.  Geddes might be bluffing.  “Please, cast the spell then.  Let it verify that I speak the truth.”

Geddes smiled blandly.  “But I have already cast the spell.  I know that almost everything you just told me is a lie.”

Blaise tried not to react.  This could still be a bluff.  “Impossible.  Your spell must not be reliable then.  I’ve spoken nothing but the truth.”

“What I want to know is why you’re lying,”  Geddes said ignoring Blaise’s attempts at assuring him of the veracity of his tales.  “I assume it’s because you procured the time turner by illegal means.”

Blaise faked outrage at the accusation.  “I’m a law abiding member of society.  Unless you have proof, I suggest you drop any thoughts of charging me with a crime.”

Geddes rolled his eyes.  “I’m not interested in charging you with a crime you committed in the distant future especially not if you don’t even have the time turner with you.  Keep in mind, though, that you will be watched by us for the rest of your life.  We do like to keep a log of the details of any rare occurrences, and your presence, Blaise Zabini, is one of the rarest occurrences.  It would be inadvisable for you to try to commit any serious crimes without getting caught.”

“What?”  Blaise’s outrage was real this time.  “You can’t keep a watch on me for the rest of my life.  That’s an invasion of privacy.”

“Yes.  It’s an unfortunate predicament for you to be in, yet we have to keep tabs on sensitive happenings such as this.  I’m sure you understand.”  Blaise’s scathing glare had no effect on Geddes.  “Well, whether you do understand or not, there’s not much you can do about the situation.  With or without your permission we will carry on as planned.”

“And I suppose this violation of human rights is sanctioned by the Ministry of Magic?”  Blaise seeethed.

“Well, now, I wouldn’t call it a violation of human rights, but yes.  The Ministry of Magic allows the members of the Department of Mysteries to watch over anything we deem potentially dangerous to the stability of the world.  It wouldn’t do if we let you run your mouth to everyone about the future.”

Blaise forced himself to stay levelheaded.  He could already tell that arguing over this would get him nowhere.  “And how do you plan on carrying out this invasion of privacy?  Can I expect an unspeakable to attach himself to me via sticking charm?”

“Of course not.  None of us have the time to spare to babysit 24/7,”  Geddes said with a smirk.  Blaise refused to let the taunt effect him.  “We have tracking and surveillance charms to take care of that.  I won’t go into further details because telling you how these things work would only be an invitation for you to figure out a way to defeat the spells.  Suffice it to say that we won’t literally watch your every move, but we will know where you are at all times.”

Blaise was starting to feel like he was being watched already.  He could already feel that itch of paranoia in the center of his back.  “If I prove myself trustworthy, will you leave me alone?”

Geddes rubbed his chin.  “That is up to people farther up the chain of authority than me.  Now, let’s move on to other matters.  How old are you?  16?  17?”

“19,”  Blaise answered shortly.  He had no patience with this man anymore.  He’d rather sleep in a bed and hope for the world to right itself in the morning.

“19,”  Geddes repeated.  “So you already completed your schooling.”

“Yes,”  Blaise confirmed.

Geddes raised his brows.  “Interesting.  Why would you lie about that?”

Blaise scowled.  Clearly, Geddes truth detection spell was no bluff.  Whatever spell Geddes used to detect whether Blaise lied or not was an insufferable invention, at least in the hands of someone else.  Blaise wouldn’t mind learning how to use that spell himself.  “The end of my seventh year got cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances.  I only had a month left to complete, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“This whole thing will go a lot more smoothly if you answer honestly the first go around, Blaise Zabini,”  Geddes said.  Blaise didn’t know why the man insisting on using his full name every time he addressed Blaise, but it was starting to irritate him along with everything else about the man.  “Have you taken your NEWTs at least?”

Knowing that lying would be pointless and telling the truth would be admitting to a lack in Blaise’s qualifications, he prevaricated.  “I’m more than qualified.  I led an investigation team for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.”

“At 19?  Very impressive.”  At least, Geddes knew talent when he saw it.  “Still, you should complete your schooling.  I don’t know what extenuating circumstances could possibly cancel the end of a school year, but it seems like a horrible idea to me.  We’ll give you an identity as a 17 year old and enroll you into Hogwarts for your seventh year.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”  Blaise asked incredulously.  He couldn’t possibly be expected to put up with insipid school children for a whole year.  He had enough of that the first seven years he intended Hogwarts.

“I’m afraid not.”  Geddes took out his wand and a piece of paper.  “I assume you’ll want to keep your first name.”  Blaise refused to respond.  He wasn’t going to participate in this madness.  Putting his wand down, Geddes sent an exasperated look at Blaise.  “You might want to cooperate.  You wouldn’t want to end up with a name like Phileas Bartamus.”

“It’s about as good as Llewelyn Geddes,”  Blaise quipped.  He was a bit surprised at himself.  He usually wasn’t so snarky around strangers.

“Cute.  Phileas Bartamus it is.”  Geddes raised his wand pointing it at the paper.

“I’m not parading around with an asinine name,”  Blaise warned.  Ignoring him, Geddes completed his spell, turning the paper into a form of ID.  He handed the card over to Blaise who folded his arms staring down in disdain at the item in Geddes hand.  He relaxed as he read the name, Blaise Marsden.  “I don’t know any wizarding families with the surname Marsden.”

“You wouldn’t.  Blaise Marsden has a muggle father.”

Blaise scoffed.  “You want me to pose as a half blood.”

“Yes.  There are purebloods obsessed with genealogy who like to keep tabs on other purebloods, so it’s harder to create a new identity of an unknown 17 year old pureblood.  Not impossible, but enough of a hassle that it’s not happening.”  This was yet another statement Blaise felt better not replying to.  “Don’t pout about it.  You’re still actually a pureblood if that makes you feel better.”

“Not particularly.”  Blaise didn’t elaborate.  He didn’t need to tell Geddes how many perks came just from holding the status of pureblood.  It should be obvious to anyone with the slightest bit of observational skills.

“Ok.  We can hash out the rest of the details of your identity later.  I want to get back to how you came into possession of a time turner.”  Blaise gritted his teeth.  He wished he had gone back in time to when he took the time turner instead, so that he could kill himself before he got into this mess. 


	4. Chapter 4

The process of inventing a new identity took way too much time and effort for Blaise. He had to argue with Geddes on almost every point, and the man refused to listen to him almost as often. In the end, he became Blaise Marsden, a half blood who home schooled for his first six years, but had to enroll at Hogwarts for his seventh year due to his mother's death. Thankfully for Blaise's sanity, Geddes didn't require him to help with forming all the paperwork validating the existence of Blaise Marsden. If anyone felt the need to check birth records, death certificates, or past exam grades, they would find seemingly official records for Blaise Marsden and his equally fake family.

During the process, Geddes held Blaise captive in his house claiming he couldn't associate with the outside world until Geddes finished putting his identity together. Blaise looked forward to leaving the house and living on his own, but Geddes put a damper in that dream when he informed Blaise that he had to continue cohabitating with Geddes until he went to school. To say that Blaise was irritated when he found out would be an understatement. He made his arguments almost robotically, knowing by that point that Geddes had already made up his mind.

The good news was that Geddes was extremely busy as an unspeakable, and Blaise hardly ever had to encounter him. Another plus was that Geddes stopped addressing him by his full name since he acquired his new identity. Blaise didn't know why getting called Blaise Zabini every time annoyed him so much, but he didn't care to dwell on the matter. As long as it was over, that was all Blaise needed to know.

On Blaise's first day of 1944 Hogwarts, Geddes told him to go to the headmaster's office long before the rest of the school arrived. As Blaise sat in the chair in front of the past headmaster's desk, he surveyed the room. The furnishing wasn't near as eccentric as when Dumbledore was headmaster. Rather, it quite aligned with Blaise's preferences. At least Professor Dippet had good taste even if he was a blithering idiot as Blaise found out within his first couple of minutes in the headmaster's presence.

"Oh, but I'm sure you want to find out what house you're in," the headmaster finally said after wasting Blaise's time with babbling. "Let me go get the hat." Blaise watched silently as the grizzly old man fetched the hat and returned. He held out the hat to Blaise. "You're a quiet boy, aren't you?"

In lieu of answering, Blaise snatched the hat and jammed it onto his head wondering how the hat would take ending up on the head of a time traveler past his school years. "I've seen the like," the hat said in response to Blaise's thoughts. "I sorted a similar student around 600 years ago though he was actually the appropriate age to be in school."

Blaise would have pointed out that posing as a school child was not his choice, but he would not deign to explain himself to a ratty hat. "I know just where to sort you," the hat told him with amusement. "You couldn't possibly belong anywhere but SLYTHERIN."

"A fine house indeed," Dippet congratulated as he took back the sorting hat and returned it to its original location. "One of my best students is a Slytherin, in fact, he is the current head boy. During the sorting feast, look for Tom Riddle. He is always willing to help out first years, and I'm sure he'll be the same with newly enrolled seventh years."

Blaise blanched. Why hadn't he considered the possibility? He hadn't known the exact years Voldemort had attended Hogwarts but he knew the basic time period. First carelessly taking a time turner and now this. Blaise would have to get his head checked for brain damage to explain his recent bumblings. "Tom Riddle?" he repeated.

"Yes." The headmaster nodded completely oblivious to Blaise's inner turmoil.

"I need to contact my uncle. Immediately," Blaise said. There was no way he was going to attend Hogwarts with a young Voldemort. Geddes would listen to him this time.

"A bit of first day nerves?" Dippet asked kindly. Blaise felt offended that Dippet would think him so weak, but he nodded regardless. In this situation and only this situation, he could stand to let his pride take a hit. "Don't worry, Blaise. I know you're used to an environment where you're the only student and the teacher is someone you know, but you'll come to find that friends are plentiful and the teachers are available for any help you might require."

Blaise nodded stiffly as he inwardly scoffed at the idea of making friends or requiring help. He would send a letter via owl as soon as possible. He was sure he could survive sharing a dorm with Voldemort for one night. After all, it wasn't like he went around killing other students during his tenure at Hogwarts. He never could have lasted as long if that was the case.

Dippet accompanied Blaise to the Great Hall much to Blaise's displeasure. He didn't care for the nattering of the old man. Blaise was glad to part ways and head to the empty Slytherin table as they waited for the rest of the students to arrive. The students started to pour in, and Blaise tried to radiate an overt standoffish demeanor so that nobody would try to interact with him. It worked for approximately ten seconds.

As Blaise stared determinedly at the wall straight ahead of him, a thin attractive girl sat directly in front of him. "I haven't seen you before," the girl stated bluntly. Blaise resigned himself to a forced conversation with the girl. It wouldn't do to brush her off and make an enemy of someone that could have connections.

"I've just started at Hogwarts. My mother taught me before."

The girl smirked. "How sweet." Blaise bristled. He didn't need some insignificant girl mocking him about his made up backstory.

"My name is Blaise Marsden," Blaise continued politely.

"Charmed," the girl said. "I'm Lucretia Black."

"A wonderful and well established wizarding family," Blaise said with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

"So I've heard," Black said drily. "Tell me, Blaise Marsden, how pure is your blood?"

"I'm a pureblood, obviously," Blaise said. If Black cared to check, she would find out his supposed parents consisted of a mudblood and a halfblood, but it was unlikely that Black had any investment in finding out Blaise's heritage.

"Obviously," Black repeated mockingly. "It's strange how every single person that ends up in Slytherin is a pureblood, don't you think? You'd think at least one halfblood or mudblood would fit the bill."

Blaise lifted up the corners of his mouth in a slight smile. It was well known that those Slytherins of lesser blood lied about their heritage though it was not usually known which Slytherins lied. "I can't say I know much about the matter. I come from a long line of Ravenclaws."

"Were your parents disappointed at your deviation?"

"They're dead," Blaise said without any cushioning. He didn't feel like pretending to be devastated over the death of parents he never had.

"Then I suppose it's rather hard to disappoint them," Black said. Blaise chuckled lightly. If they were talking about his real mother he might have taken offense to Black's insensitivity, but it didn't bother him for her to talk flippantly about his fake parents. Black gave up on conversation once the festivities started for which Blaise was grateful. The girl certainly provided better company than the people he'd spent time around since his trip to the past, but he didn't have any interest in befriending her either. Besides, he had other matters to occupy his mind.

Blaise realized he would have to associate himself with Black again once the ceremony ended. He wasn't supposed to know his way around the castle, and he desperately needed to get ahold of an owl. He couldn't risk someone observing him acting as if he was familiar with the layout. "Can you show me to the owlery?" Blaise whispered to Black as he flanked her on the way out of the Great Hall.

"Certainly," Black whispered back in jest. Louder, she said, "What do you need to go to the owlery for on the first day of school?"

Blaise brushed her off. "It's a personal matter."

"Fair enough."

The rest of the way, Blaise appropriately matched Black's chatter wishing all the while that she would hurry up. Blaise successfully sent off a letter telling Geddes he urgently needed to speak with him but leaving out the details. He couldn't risk giving too much away in case the letter got intercepted. After sending the letter, Blaise had Black lead him back to the dorm that he already knew the location of.

The next day at breakfast, Blaise received a terse reply from Geddes reading, "Next Hogsmeade trip." Crumbling the letter in his fist, Blaise stood up. He thought he'd made it clear how urgent the matter was. He had another letter to send.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaise’s first interaction with the next dark lord came after he retired to his dorm room the second night.  After classes and dinner, Blaise headed up to his room trying to avoid any attempts at socializing with him.  Before he could finish getting ready, a well groomed and posh seeming boy entered the room.  From his classes, Blaise already knew who the boy was.  Voldemort received a lot of praise from most of the professors for mastering the material easily.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly acquainted,”  Voldemort greeted with a friendly smile on his face.  If the name Tom Riddle hadn’t already been beaten into Blaise’s head by every news outlet after the war, he never would have connected this attractive looking 17 year old with the distorted, inhuman face of the Voldemort Blaise was familiar with.

“Blaise Marsden,”  Blaise said not moving from his position at the entryway to the bathroom.  He knew that his exact proximity to Voldemort didn’t matter at this short of range, but he felt better keeping his distance.  In this case, he had no problem acknowledging his fear without taking a hit to his pride.  Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid when confronted with an almost immortal and indiscriminate murderer.

“Tom Riddle,”  Voldemort returned.  He stepped over to Blaise and held out his hand.  As Blaise hesitantly took the proffered hand, he was idiotically startled that the hand felt as warm and human as any other hand.  Maybe his fear  _ was _ too irrational.  He needed to get ahold of himself.

The handshake ended shortly and Voldemort stepped back still wearing his friendly smile.  “What brings you to start Hogwarts in your last year?”

“My mother died,”  Blaise said shortly.  For any Slytherin, that answer should be sufficient.

Voldemort allowed his smile to disappear from his face.  “My condolences.”

“Thank you,”  Blaise said keeping his face straight.  He decided the conversation needed to end there.  “Good night, Riddle.”

“Good night, Marsden,”  Voldemort allowed with a slight nod.  Before Blaise could enter his enclosure, Voldemort spoke up again.  “Hufflepuff is known as the house of loyalty, but Slytherin is also a house of loyalty, sometimes even more so than Hufflepuff.  Most people don’t think so considering we tend to turn on anyone that no longer enriches our lives in some way, but the reality is, we only give our true loyalty to those that deserve it.  When we do find someone that deserves our loyalty, that loyalty is undying unless the loyalty is abused.  I hope I will find that we deserve each other’s loyalty, Blaise Marsden.”

Blaise unwillingly recalled the time when Geddes would call him by his full name as he tried to figure out the appropriate response to Voldemort’s short warning speech.  He was used to warnings a lot more subtle, but he supposed Voldemort already had enough clout in Hogwarts to get away with slightly less subtlety than normal.  Merlin knew the Voldemort of Blaise’s time hardly even knew the meaning of subtlety.  Arrogance.  Voldemort gained so much power that he believed himself infallible and no longer felt the need for subtle manipulations.  A common mistake of the mighty according to Berenice.

Blaise had to be more careful with his answer than Voldemort had been with his unspoken question.  He did not hold the power to afford mistakes.  “I understand the importance of loyalty,”  Blaise said vaguely.  

“Glad to hear it.  See you tomorrow, Marsden.”  Blaise waited until he heard Voldemort’s footsteps pad down the stairs before getting into his bed.  He’d never admit to anyone else how little sleep he got that night.

The next morning, Blaise received an even smaller note from Geddes at breakfast.  The note held just one word underlined three times, Hogsmeade.  Furius, Blaise stuffed the note in his pocket and continued eating, inwardly fuming.  If Geddes wasn’t going to take him seriously, he was going to make him take him seriously.

Blaise didn’t return to his common room that night.  He hid out in the library until it closed, slipped out to the grounds, and exited through a secret passage from a hidden alcove on the first floor to the underside of Zonko’s.  At least, it was Zonko’s in Blaise’s time.  As he entered the upper floor of the building, he gazed in amazement at the rows of bookshelves.  He needed to stop getting surprised by differences from his time and 1944.  

Not wasting anymore time, Blaise exited to the streets so he could apparate outside of Geddes’ house.  He marched over to the window of Geddes’ bedroom and slammed on it repeatedly.  In little time, the window opened and a disheveled Geddes glared sleepily out at Blaise.  “What part of Hogsmeade did you not understand?”

“I went to Hogsmeade.  You weren’t there, so I came here,”  Blaise said drily.  Geddes slammed his window shut, and Blaise smirked.  It was nice to be the antagonizer in their relationship for a change.

“Get in here then,”  Geddes called out from the front door a minute later.  Blaise headed over and brushed past Geddes still wearing his self satisfied smirk.  “What is so important that you couldn’t act like a regular student until the first Hogsmeade trip?”

Blaise sobered up as he got back to the reason he was at Geddes’ house.  “I have to leave Hogwarts.  You’ve put me in with a future dark lord.”

Geddes’ face was impassive as he studied over Blaise.  “So ingratiate yourself with him.  You’re opportunistic, aren’t you?  I’m sure a dark lord is well connected.”

“Are you trying to play a joke on me?  I’ll end up dead before I receive anything of value.”

“Ah, when self preservation beats out a Slytherin’s ambitions.”

“I’m glad this is amusing to you.”  Their roles reversed back to normal much too quickly for Blaise’s comfort.  “Try not to laugh during the eulogy at my funeral.  People tend to look down on that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think the future dark lord is going to kill you?  Do you plan on getting in his way?”

“Of course not,”  Blaise said affronted.  Did Geddes take him for a fool Gryffindor?  “I’m not saying it’s likely he’ll kill me just that it’s more likely I’ll end up dead if I live with a deranged boy that doesn’t hesitate to harm his own followers let alone those that oppose him.”

Geddes sat down on his couch.  “I hardly think the boy would have gone through school without any suspicion if he was as quick to harm as you say.”

“He could if he has his whole house on his side and if he’s pulled the wool over the eyes of the administration.  I don’t know what Voldemort’s up to during his school years, and I don’t care to find out.”

Geddes sat in thought for a while.  Blaise took the opportunity to settle into a seat of his own.  Hopefully, Geddes decided he cared enough about Blaise’s life to not throw him back into a deadly situation.  “What do you plan to do if you don’t go back to school?  I assume you’ll want to get back to your original job at the DMAC.  I can set you up for NEWT testing by early February.”

“That would be appreciated,”  Blaise said relaxing a little.  He was glad Geddes was listening to him for once.

“What are your ambitions?  I doubt your goals end with leading an investigation team in the DMAC.  Someone as driven as you, you have your sights set on something more.”

Blaise held himself back from flinching at Geddes stern gaze.  He felt a bit silly telling a current unspeakable that he desired the same job as him especially since he didn’t think Geddes liked him much.  Blaise couldn’t expect any recommendations from him.  “That’s a personal matter.”

“Is it?  Let’s outline what you told me about yourself.  You took Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Transfiguration at NEWT level.  You started working your way up through the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad straight out of school.  You don’t have close ties with anyone outside of your mother.  Most importantly, the only time you’ve ever initiated a conversation with me was to ask me about my work.  I’m guessing your aspirations lie somewhere in the Department of Mysteries.”  Blaise stared back at Geddes too stunned to comment.  He liked to think of himself as much harder to read than that.  “Well, Blaise Zabini, was I mistaken?”

Blaise grimaced.  They were back to the aggravating full name usage.  “It is somewhat accurate,”  Blaise admitted reluctantly.

“I think you have a decent chance,”  Geddes said flippantly.  Blaise raised a brow.  This couldn’t be as good as it sounded.  “You’re getting firsthand experience in the unknown which is a plus for you.  If your NEWT grades prove as good as you assure me they’ll be, then you can move up through the DMAC as quickly as you did in your time, quicker even, and then work your way through Obliviator Headquarters afterwards.  I’d say in eight years time, you could start your internship at the Department of Mysteries.”

“That certainly sounds ideal,”  Blaise said cautiously.  There was definitely a catch coming.

“Doesn’t it?  How does cutting in half the time until your internship starts sound?”

Blaise narrowed his eyes at Geddes.  What was he up to?  “It sounds too good to be true.”

Geddes barked a laugh.  “Pay attention to your instincts, Blaise Zabini.  They seem good.  We don’t give internships to just anyone that gets good grades and goes through the proper channels.  You need capability for discretion, for deception, for approaching a dangerous situation cautiously but effectively, and a willingness to put yourself in such a dangerous situation to gain knowledge.  I find it amusing that you want to enter one of the most lethal professions while running at the first sign of danger.”

Blaise shifted uncomfortably.  “I don’t shy away from danger when there’s something to be gained from it,”  Blaise said mostly untruthfully.  “But in this case, I’m putting myself into the proximity of a deranged killer without reason.”

“The reason is to give you a normal identity with a paper trail that makes sense.”  Blaise gripped the chair of his arm tightly.  If he continued backing out now, Geddes would determine him to be a coward.  When Blaise failed to respond in a timely matter,  Geddes stood up and strode towards the door.  “Come along.  I have something to show you.” 

Blaise shot up from his seat and followed after Geddes.  “Where are we going?”

“The Department of Mysteries.”


	6. Chapter 6

Blaise almost tripped when Geddes led him away from the rooms directly in front of the elevator and to a narrow corridor, bare except for one dark door at the end. When Geddes said they were going to the Department of Mysteries, he assumed Geddes meant the entrance area where visitors were allowed. He couldn't believe he was going to enter the section with extreme limited access.

As Blaise stepped through the door behind Geddes, he barely had time to register the blue tinged circular room with door covered walls before the walls started spinning rapidly in front of him. Blaise had no chance of keeping track of which door was which. The walls slowed to a halt, and Geddes made his way to the door just to the right of the door directly in front of them. Blaise followed behind eagerly. Blaise wasn't quick to excite, but the hidden secrets of the world always inflated Blaise's emotions.

Others might have been disappointed to find that their first exploit into the Department of Mysteries led to a simple library, but not Blaise. Probably because he knew this library was anything but simple. What information did these books hold that the unspeakables found it necessary to place them in their own secret library? As Blaise followed Geddes through the rows of shelves, he noticed that the books changed to folders and binders, some labelled, some not labelled. Geddes stopped abruptly, reached out to a shelf, and pulled out two stuffed, labelled binders. The labels gave two names, Leonard Sheffield and Mira Black.

Geddes pointed the labels at Blaise. "Considering your aspirations, I assume you've heard of Mira Black."

Blaise hardly felt such an obvious fact needed confirmation, but he nodded anyways. "She helped to establish the Department of Mysteries." Blaise knew considerable more about the woman, but he didn't need to ramble on about her and make a fool of himself.

"She's the first recorded time traveler," Geddes added. Blaise hadn't known that. "Before time turners even existed, she got into an accident which sent her back 87 years into the past. Mira spent much of her life trying to replicate the incident. Due to her research, one of the Department of Mysteries' first goals was to find the secrets to time travel."

Blaise knew that last part. Mira was credited as the inventor of time turners. "I presume that Leonard Sheffield also went through a time related accident that sent him through years of time."

"Very good, Blaise Zabini," Geddes said condescendingly. "Although his wasn't so much of an accident. Sheffield purposely removed the safeguard that prevented time travel past five hours, but we're not here to talk about Sheffield and his questionable decisions." Geddes returned Sheffield's binder to its position on the shelf. "We're here to talk about Mira's contributions to our studies on time."

Geddes led Blaise over to a small table in the back of the library and plopped the binder on top of the table before sitting down. After Blaise sat across from him, Geddes flipped through the binder and pulled out a piece of paper sliding it over to Blaise. "You might find this page interesting."

Blaise read through the page quickly but carefully. "She accidentally prevented her own birth. Doesn't that cause a paradox?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Geddes answered lightly. "Despite all our efforts, we still know very little about time. Seemingly, a time traveler can make significant changes to the future without disrupting the fabric of the world. If not, we'd have locked you up to make sure you didn't change anything."

"Are you trying to tell me you want me to change the future? If you're referring to Voldemort, I'm not some fool Gryffindor. I don't go around making enemies with powerful wizards out of a misguided sense of righteousness."

"Voldemort? Is that the name of the future dark lord you spoke of?" Geddes snorted when Blaise nodded. "That's an unfortunate name."

"I wouldn't feel sorry for him. He brought the name upon himself."

"I see. Dark lords do tend to have a flair for the dramatic. Anyways, I am not asking you to do anything about the future dark lord. That is not the point I was trying to make at all." Geddes took the paper and slipped it back inside the binder. "All I wanted to point out was how risky every action Mira took was. She didn't know what effects her actions would have. She didn't know stopping her birth wouldn't erase her whole life. Mira didn't really have a choice on whether she was stuck in the past or not, though, but she did make the choice to use her accident to her advantage and delve into the secrets of time. If she made the wrong move, she could have hurt herself or ended up farther in the past. The terrible possibilities are endless, but she persisted and she achieved her goal. That's the kind of woman that helped to found the Department of Mysteries, and that's the kind of person we accept into our ranks."

"Ok. I get it," Blaise said. "And if staying at Hogwarts opened me up to discovery, I would do so but-"

"But instead you're choosing to cower away even though your future dark lord has nothing against you given that he doesn't know you." Geddes shut Mira Black's binder with a snap. "Ok. As you wish. I'll call the headmaster tomorrow and tell him you had to leave school due to social anxiety induced by a sheltered childhood."

Geddes stood up from his seat, grabbing Mira's binder and walking it back to the shelf. Blaise stared straight ahead of him at the space Geddes had just occupied not seeing anything as an unfamiliar feeling washed over him. He had a determination to carry on in spite of the risks, to forget about self preservation for once and willingly face the threat head on. That feeling must be what drove people like Harry Potter but without the additional compassion.

Jumping up from his seat, Blaise rushed towards Geddes. "No," he said firmly. "I'll stay in school."

Geddes grinned at him. "Are you sure? Do you want to bring a teddy bear with you for comfort?"

If Blaise were one who cursed, he'd tell Geddes to go fuck himself, but as a man of class with proper upbringing, Blaise refrained from such filth. "Childish taunts are a sign of those lacking intellect."

Geddes chuckled. "Those who comment the most about others' intellects only show that they think they are much more clever than they actually are."

"By making that comment, you too are commenting about others' intellects," Blaise pointed out.

"So I am," Geddes admitted easily. "Well, Blaise Zabini, would you like a short tour of the Department of Mysteries to celebrate you overcoming your cowardice?"

Blaise ignored the slight in light of the rare offer he just received. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely, but keep in mind, when I say a short tour, I mean  _short_. Just a little trip through the Hall of Prophecy, and don't touch anything. You'll be driven to madness if you do," Geddes warned. Blaise nodded eagerly.

The two went back into the circular room with all the doors and waited out the spinning. This time, Geddes led Blaise through the door directly behind them. Gliding through a room filled with various clocks and time turners, they exited through the next door walking into a cold room filled with soaring shelves of cloudy orbs. Blaise swung his head left and right taking in the awe-inspiring sight as they walked between the shelves.

"The majority of these prophecies have not yet come to pass," Geddes started with the air of someone beginning a lecture. "The wording of most prophecies is vague enough that we don't know whether the prophecies are false or haven't come to pass yet. Rows 1-60 carry prophecies of which we don't know who the prophecies refer to. Rows 61-98 carry prophecies in which we identified the subjects. Rows 99-110 are prophecies that can never come true, and rows 111-116 are prophecies that have definitively come true already."

"A small percentage," Blaise commented still gazing upwards at the countless orbs.

"Yes, the vague nature of prophecy makes it hard to determine whether it came to pass or not. The funny thing is, the prophecies in rows 111-116 contain a lot of the more insignificant predictions. Most people expect prophecies to tell of grand world changing events, but much of the predictions are small scale. I've heard a prophecy as trivial as an upcoming promotion for an auror."

"What's the point of a prophecy like that?" Blaise asked.

"What's the point of anything?" Geddes retorted. Geddes continued the tour of the Hall, occasionally pointing out a prophecy he knew the contents of. Blaise was sure he came across as over excited and much too green, but he couldn't help his fascination.

"Alright, that concludes your unauthorized tour," Geddes eventually said. "It's time for you to go back to Hogwarts."

"What purpose did you have for showing me the Hall of Prophecy?" Blaise asked believing that people always had an ulterior motive.

"Because I knew you would appreciate it. It's as simple as that, Blaise Zabini."


	7. Chapter 7

Blaise apparated from Geddes' house back to Hogsmeade next to the bookstore that was to become Zonko's by Blaise's time. Years of experience allowed him to make it back to his dorm undetected. He sighed with relief when he got into his room and the curtains of the other boys' beds were drawn. He wanted to slide into bed and fall asleep immediately, not explain himself to one of his dorm mates.

The next morning, Blaise woke up with regret. He'd made the decision to go back to Hogwarts in the spur of the moment, and it didn't seem as good as an idea as when he had made the decision. As he left his bed to be greeted by the cause for his wariness, Blaise's regret doubled.

"Late night last night?" Voldemort greeted with an amused grin, impersonating an understanding schoolmate flawlessly. Blaise saw that face on many of his old schoolmates when one of the other boys stayed out past curfew. It was the face of an accomplice to schoolboy mischief of breaking minor rules and getting away with it. It was the kind of mischief Blaise figured was too light for a young Voldemort.

"Sort of." Blaise shrugged. "I got lost and couldn't find my way back, so I wandered around for awhile until I got directions from a portrait."

"Boring," called another voice from across the room. A boy with short, brown hair peeked his head out from the curtains around his bed. "You're surprisingly elusive, Marsden. Two days here and I haven't seen you outside of meals and classes. Where did you disappear to yesterday?"

"I was in the library studying." Blaise decided he already didn't like this boy. Intrusive questions were considered rude among the people Blaise kept company with.

The boy made a noise of disgust. "Even more boring. Are you sure you're not supposed to be a Ravenclaw?"

"You think anyone that spends more than two seconds looking at a book is a Ravenclaw, Lestrange," Voldemort snapped. Lestrange's amusement disappeared from his face at Voldemort's tone. "You could stand to spend a little more time reading books considering the dismal state your grades are in."

"Right. Of course," Lestrange agreed easily before disappearing back into his bed enclosure. Blaise felt uneasy as he observed the scene. Clearly, Voldemort already had at least one devoted follower at the young age of 17.

Voldemort turned towards Blaise and gave him a smile that defied his demeanor from just moments before. "You should start getting dressed, Marsden. You wouldn't want to be late for your second day of classes." He nodded once and then exited the dorm. Shaking off the unnerving wake up, Blaise headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

Over the days, Blaise noted a lot about Voldemort, or Tom Riddle as he should be thinking of him lest he slip up and call him Voldemort by accident. The majority of the time, Riddle played his part as the charming headboy perfectly. He offered help when students struggled in class, he stopped fights and bullying in the hallways, and he mastered everything thrown at him in class without letting a smidge of smugness show through. Due to Riddle's good looks, skill, and kindness to everyone, he was well liked by members of all houses.

Riddle's mask only ever slipped when he was in the dorm room surrounded only by the other boys in his year. Blaise still felt like Riddle kept a mask up in Blaise's presence just one that wasn't as overdone as the Riddle that roamed the halls of Hogwarts. In the dorm room, Riddle didn't hesitate to harshly criticize someone for an act he found idiotic. When in the classroom, he patiently helped those near him and encouraged them all the while. He'd never speak a harsh word against anyone outside of the dorm.

The other boys; Corvus Lestrange, Nathan Avery, and Arche Rosier followed Riddle's lead in every situation. Anything Riddle said was as good as an order to them. Anytime Blaise caught one of the three leaping to obey Riddle, Riddle smirked challengingly at Blaise. Blaise didn't know what the challenge was, but he had no inclination to take on that challenge. Luckily for Blaise, Riddle left him to his own devices for the majority of the time. Blaise didn't know if it would continue being that way, but he was glad that it was for the moment.

Blaise's second time around at Hogwarts ended up reminiscent of his first time in school. He kept to himself only interacting with his fellow students when etiquette required, and he spent long hours in the library researching when his presence wasn't required in a classroom. An uneventful month passed, and Blaise actually started feeling a little silly for worrying about Riddle. Maybe he didn't have to get involved in any way.

Blaise's dreams of avoiding association with any of the other students crumbled in the first few days of October. He peacefully sat in the library reading a book on the theories of the relation of magic ability to potion making when Lucretia Black strutted up to his table a book in hand. Blaise didn't deign to look up at her though he noticed her presence. He didn't appreciate being disturbed while he read.

"Mind if I sit here?" Black asked when Blaise failed to acknowledge her.

Blaise gritted his teeth. He didn't want to be too rude and piss her off, but he wanted to make sure she knew her presence was not welcome. "I'm studying. I can't afford any distractions."

Black completely ignored Blaise's dismissal and sat down at the table. "That's fine. I'll just be reading quietly. Shouldn't be a distraction at all."

Not having another reason to tell Black to go away, Blaise resigned himself to sharing his table. He successfully forgot about Black's existence as he engrossed himself into his reading.

For the next week, Black joined him at his table every day to read her own book as he read. Blaise decided it wasn't too bad. Other than the daily greeting as she sat at the table, Black stayed quiet. It was almost like Blaise was by himself even when Black was there which he much appreciated. All the same, he did start to wonder why the girl insisted on sharing his table every day even though they never talked.

"Why do you always sit here?" Blaise finally asked once the urge to solve the mystery built up too much for him to hold back.

Black looked up from her book furrowing her brows at Blaise. "It's comfortable."

"Surely, it's just as comfortable as any of the other tables in here. I don't believe there's much differentiation from table to table," Blaise said drily.

"I meant it's comfortable to sit with you," Black said bluntly. "At least as opposed to anyone else in the school. You haven't been here long, but you've managed to avoid irritating me so far."

Satisfied enough with that answer, Blaise went back to his reading. Most other people just didn't understand the value of silence.

Blaise shared Black's sentiment about the irritating qualities of his other school mates. His dorm mates tried to start many conversations with him, conversations he deftly avoided by using his dorm only when necessary. Even so, he had to hear the insipid conversations Avery and Lestrange had prior to going to bed.

"Did you hear they're letting a squib work at the bookstore in Hogsmeade now?" Lestrange asked Avery one night after Blaise entered his dorm.

Avery jumped up from his bed and started pacing. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. People don't have a proper sense of decorum anymore. In the past, the family disowned the squib and left them to the world of muggles as makes sense. A squib is essentially a muggle and muggles don't belong in the magical world. I can't believe we let it get to the point where we have muggles running our shops. How can someone who can't perform any magic know anything about magical books?"

Ignoring the argument and the boys in the room, Blaise strode over to his bed. Obviously, one didn't have to use magic to collect money in exchange for books. "What do you think, Marsden?" Riddle interjected before Lestrange could respond.

Turning to Riddle with trepidation, Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Sitting casually on his bed, Riddle smirked slyly at Blaise. "About the muggle situation. Do you think muggles ever have a place in the magical world?"

In truth, Blaise didn't particularly care either way. Parents of mudbloods often got involved in the magical world and it didn't make any difference as far as he could tell. "Of course not. They have their own world. Let them stick to that."

"And mudbloods?" Riddle inquired.

Again, Blaise didn't care. Whether mudbloods ended up at Hogwarts or never learned of its existence had no effect on Blaise's life. "They always bring their parents with them," Blaise prevaricated.

"Someone should do something about the infiltration of mudbloods and muggles in our world. Don't you agree, Marsden?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise looked to the side at Avery and Lestrange. They were intently watching the exchange between Riddle and Blaise. Blaise didn't like the direction this conversation was headed in. He knew who Riddle had in mind for being that someone that did something about the increasing numbers of muggles. He had 19 years of tales about Voldemort to warn him of the younger version standing in front of him. Still, he had no hope but to answer in the positive.

"Certainly."

Riddle's smile widened. "I'm glad you agree. I think considering the direction things are headed in, we can expect someone worthy to step up to the task soon."

"We can only hope." Blaise was itching to spin around and go to bed. He could sense the danger creeping up on him, danger he evaded at every opportunity.

"I think we can do more than hope." Riddle stood up. "Good night, Marsden." Riddle pulled the curtains around his bed shut leaving Blaise a bit dazed by the sudden dismissal. It felt like the discussion was cut off before Riddle ever got to the point.

Blaise nodded good night to Lestrange and Avery and finally escaped to his bed.


	8. Chapter 8

“Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?”  Rosier asked a couple of weeks after Blaise’s unnerving conversation with Riddle.  

Blaise spared him a glance as he tied his shoelaces.  “Yes.”

“‘Yes’,”  Rosier mimicked in an annoying voice.  Blaise hated him more than the others in his dorm, even Riddle.  Riddle might kill him one day, but at least he wasn’t obnoxious.  “Are you afraid you’ll run out of words later in life if you use too many now?”

“Brevity is the soul of wit.”  Blaise stood up and headed toward the dorm exit.

“Wait up, Marsden,”  Avery called out.  Reluctantly, Blaise halted and turned around.  “Arche has the social skills of a rock.  He’s trying to find out if you’re going with Lucretia Black since you two have been so cozy in the library together.”

Blaise studied himself in the mirror by the exit to the dorm, adjusting his tie.  This conversation was turning out exactly as ridiculous as he had expected it to.  “We hardly even talk to each other.”

“Oh?”  Rosier snickered.  “What do you do instead?”

Blaise whipped a withering glare in Rosier’s direction.  “Read.  I assume this conversation is over.”

“Not yet,”  Avery cut in before Blaise could move closer to the door.  “We figured we should probably warn you about Lucretia Black.  She’s a bit off.”

Blaise wondered if he should even bother asking, but he figured they’d end up telling him anyways, so he stayed silent, raising a brow in question.  “She’s a bloody mudblood sympathizer,”  Lestrange said with a scowl.  “You wouldn’t think it because she acts respectable most of the time, but she’s spoken out against muggle restriction laws before.”

This was why Blaise had never liked any of his housemates before.  Even sharing a table in the library with the wrong person was liable to set off one of their sensibilities.  “I’m not friends with Black,”  Blaise assured them curtly.  He gestured to the exit.  “Now, if you’re done-” 

“Go ahead,”  Rosier dismissed.  As Blaise left he heard him continue,  “You’d think he was allergic to something in this dorm the way he avoids it.”

“Or he just can’t stand you,”  Avery suggested.  Well, Avery was one-fourth right.

As it turned out, the discussion about Blaise’s Hogsmeade plans was not over.  The next time Blaise encountered his housemates in the dorm, they brought up their plans for the upcoming weekend.  “Why don’t you join us, Marsden?  Surely, you don’t want to spend the rest of the year without friends,”  Riddle said with a mocking smirk.

Blaise had planned to sneak off and apparate to Geddes’ house, but Riddle’s invitation put a damper on his plans.  He couldn’t outright refuse, and he didn’t have a decent excuse.    “I suppose so, but I wasn’t planning on staying for long.  Just enough to get some more supplies.”

“Was that two whole sentences in a row?”  Rosier whispered loudly to Avery.  Blaise pretended not to hear that as did Riddle.

“You can get supplies afterward,”  Riddle said.   _ After what?  _ Blaise wondered.

On the day of the Hogsmeade trip, Riddle gathered the four other seventh year boys and a sixth year boy Blaise had never spoken to.  The last boy’s name was Nicholas Nott.  Nott preened as the group walked through the streets, clearly pleased to be included with the upper class Slytherins.  Rosier, Lestrange, and Avery engaged the younger boy in conversation about each other’s families while Riddle strode on in the lead.  Blaise lingered in the back hoping that he could make an exit soon.  

“Where are we going?”  Blaise felt the urge to ask as Riddle started to lead them away from the more commercial part of the village.  The further they got from the rest of the Hogwarts attendees and staff, the more an impending sense of dread fell over Blaise about being around Riddle and his cronies.

“Somewhere we won’t be bothered,”  Riddle answered without slowing.  That didn’t bode well for Blaise’s nerves.

As if he was trying to frighten Blaise, Riddle led the group through a shady alleyway where no one could see them unless they happened to look into the alley as they passed by.  Not wanting to let off on how unsettled he really was, Blaise held back from making an excuse to leave.  Nott watched on with anticipation as Riddle knelt down to trace a pattern on the ground with his wand.  After he stood up, a small trapdoor appeared on the ground.  “Anyone care to venture to Diagon Alley?”

Avery, Lestrange, and Rosier smirked at the astounded expression on Nott’s face and the carefully impassive one that Blaise wore.  “Tom found this passage last year.  It’s great for when we want to get out of the watchful eye of the administration,”  Lestrange said with a smile of anticipation.  

“Quiet.  Take off those ridiculous badges and ties.  We don’t want to look like school kids,”  Riddle ordered.  His followers hastened to do as told.  Blaise, too, took off his school paraphernalia, wondering what kind of activities a young Voldemort got up to when sneaking out to Diagon any.  If Riddle was any normal schoolboy, Blaise would guess that they were headed to a bar to get drunk, but that didn’t seem like an activity Riddle partook in.

“Where are we going?”  Nott asked excitedly.

“Hush,”  Avery admonished quickly, nodding towards Riddle who strode on without looking back or acknowledging Nott’s question.  The conversation lapsed for the rest of the trip as Riddle purposefully strolled through the streets, ending up at a small, dark house in a sparse, quiet neighborhood.

Riddle pulled open the door and headed inside, leaving the door open for the rest.  Blaise examined the room as he entered the rundown looking building.  There wasn’t much to look at.  Two dark green couches sat across from each other with a short, square, mahogany table in between.  A dirty stone fireplace stood against the wall across from the door and behind the table.  The room wouldn’t have been an assault to Blaise’s senses if the dusty furniture was the only affront, but the garish yellow and green wallpaper made him flinch.

Avery, Lestrange, and Rosier took seats on the couches, and Nott followed right behind, trying to act like he belonged.  As Blaise hesitated, Riddle sent him an expectant look.  Pretending he hadn’t noticed, Blaise took the other side of the couch Avery sat on.  He didn’t like how this was going.  There couldn’t possibly be a good reason for Riddle to take the group to some strange, abandoned house in Diagon Alley, and Blaise didn’t even know why he was invited.

Once Blaise had taken his seat, Riddle walked over to stand in front of the fireplace.  “Nott, Marsden, the wizarding world is currently facing a turning point.  Acceptance of the admission of mudbloods and muggles into our world has never been higher than it is now.  Nott, you recently expressed your concerns to me over the matter.  And when I asked you, Marsden, you conveyed similar dissatisfaction.  Is that correct, Marsden?  Do you worry about a future where muggles are prioritized in our own world?”

“That could never happen,”  Blaise scoffed.  “It’s our world.  Muggles don’t stand a chance in getting one up over wizards.”

  
“They do if ignorant wizards keep making allowances.  Pay attention to what’s going on, Marsden,”  Lestrange chipped in.  Riddle watched on silently as Lestrange made his point for him.  “A few years ago, muggles weren’t even allowed on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.  Now, the parents of any mudblood brat come to watch the kid get on the train.  Muggles aren’t supposed to enter magical areas.  That’s just the first part too.  My father works in the ministry, and he says they’re starting to hire muggles to act as consultant for dealing with muggles.  Imagine muggles working in the Ministry of Magic!  What a farce!”

“So you see that our concerns are perfectly valid,”  Riddle continued from where Lestrange left off, catching Blaise’s gaze with a drilling stare.

“Perhaps,”  Blaise allowed.  Riddle probably wouldn’t let it go if Blaise didn’t agree with him.

“Definitely,”  Riddle corrected.  “Do you want to risk a world where muggles freely traverse our regions?”  Blaise shook his head.  It was the only appropriate response.  “Then you should do something about it.  Something to put a stop to this trend.”

“What exactly could I do?”  Blaise asked.  He thought of the future.  Voldemort’s method involved building up an army, terrorizing his enemies, and trying to take over the ministry.  That all seemed a little too big scale for the 17 year old standing in front of him.

Riddle smiled at Blaise as if that was the question he hoped Blaise would ask.  “We start with showing someone that thinks preaching about the value of muggles in our society is okay that it isn’t.  Gregory Smith has been making his rounds in interviews, advocating for the rights of mudblood parents to have access to strictly wizarding locations.”

“Alright,”  Blaise said hesitantly.  He didn’t particularly fancy getting involved in whatever Riddle was up to, but refusal didn’t seem like an option at the moment.  “How?”

Riddle smirked.  He was getting to the point he wanted to.  “We destroy everything Smith owns.  Leave him a little message.”

Blaise flicked his eyes around the room, starting to get an idea of why they were in this dinky house.  “I take it this is Gregory Smith’s house.”

“You’re smarter than the usual dolts I deal with.”  Riddle chuckled while their other companions shifted uncomfortably at the implication of that statement.  “Well, Marsden, why don’t you take the lead?”

Following Riddle’s hand with his eyes as Riddle gestured to the room, Blaise shrugged before pulling out his wand.  It wasn’t as if the destruction of the tawdry and dusty furnishing would be a great loss.  Blaise would probably be doing the man a favor.


End file.
